I've been thinking a lot about vaginas this week. I suspect anyone who owns one actually thinks and worries about it quite a bit. I also suspect those who don't own one think about them a lot too. Maybe I'm thinking about vaginas because I'm going in for clinical treatments again and that means I will have a lot of nurses and doctors poking around down there. Maybe it's because I'm reading feminist manifestos again. Maybe it's because my uterine lining is shedding, I'm bleeding like someone shived me, and it hurts like a sonuvabitch. Whatever the impetus for this train of thought is, I've been thinking about muffs, vags, minges, lady bits, pussies, cunts, twats, caverns, holes, carpets, mounds, vulvas, etc., etc. and now I'm gonna write about them.
As I was growing up, a fat little girl in a family of fat, short women, I always had the feeling that someone was missing. Someone who was supposed to be there and wasn't. I was surrounded by uncles, great uncles, cousins, my brothers, my parents, great aunts, several grandparents and even my great-grandparents. There was an abundance of extended family, but still, somebody was missing.